The Countess herself appeared out of the night at this moment and Pierce somewhat reluctantly introduced the sharper to her.  “Here’s an able seaman in search of a job,” said he.

“Able seaman?” The woman raised her brows inquiringly.

“He said it.”  Mr. Broad nodded affirmatively.  “I’m a jolly tar, a bo’sun’s mate, a salt-horse wrangler.  I just jumped a full-rigged ship—­thimble-rigged!” He winked at Phillips and thrust his tongue into his cheek.  “Here’s my papers.”  From his shirt pocket he took a book of brown rice-papers and a sack of tobacco, then deftly fashioned a tiny cigarette.

“Roll one for me,” said the Countess.

“Why, sure!” Mr. Broad obliged instantly and with a flourish.

“Are you really a boatman?” the woman inquired.  “Don’t stall, for I’ll find you out.”  Pierce undertook to get her eye, but she was regarding Broad intently and did not see his signal.

“I’m all of that,” the latter said, seriously.

“I’m going to move this outfit in small boats, two men to a boat, double crews through the canon and in swift water.  Can you get a good man to help you?”

“He’s yours for the askin’—­Kid Bridges.  Ain’t his name enough?  He’s a good packer, too; been packin’ hay for two months.  Pierce knows him.”  Again Mr. Broad winked meaningly at Phillips.

“Come and see me to-morrow,” said the Countess.

Lucky nodded agreement to this arrangement.  “Why don’t you load the whole works on a scow?” he asked.  “You’d save men and we could all be together—­happy family stuff.  That’s what Kirby’s going to do.”

“Kirby?”

“Sam Kirby.  ‘One-armed’ Kirby—­you know.  He got in to-day with a big liquor outfit.  Him and his gal are down at the Ophir now, playing faro.”

“No scow for mine,” the Countess said, positively.  “I know what I’m doing.”

After the visitor had gone Pierce spoke his mind, albeit with some hesitancy.  “That fellow is a gambler,” said he, “and Kid Bridges is another.  Bridges held my hand for a minute, the day I landed, and his little display of tenderness cost me one hundred and thirty-five dollars.  Do you think you want to hire them?”

“Why not?” the Countess inquired.  Then, with a smile, “They won’t hold my hand, and they may be very good boatmen indeed.”  She dropped her cigarette, stepped upon it, then resumed her labors.

Phillips eyed the burnt-offering with disfavor.  Until just now he had not known that his employer used tobacco, and the discovery came as a shock.  He had been reared in a close home-circle, therefore he did not approve of women smoking; in particular he disapproved of the Countess, his Countess, smoking.  After a moment of consideration, however, he asked himself what good reason there could be for his feeling.  It was her own affair; why shouldn’t a woman smoke if she felt like it?  He was surprised at the unexpected liberality of his attitude.  This country was indeed working a change in him; he was broadening rapidly.  As a matter of fact, he assured himself, the Countess Courteau was an exceptional woman; she was quite different from the other members of her sex and the rules of decorum which obtained for them did not obtain for her.  She was one in ten thousand, one in a million.  Yes, and he was “her man.”